


the world is still on its head

by angelicaswork



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Hamliza, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, also the title is a play on that one lyric in yorktown, this is way too long but enjoy, this took literal months for me to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 04:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15856206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicaswork/pseuds/angelicaswork
Summary: “Alexander, are you… suicidal?” The words sting on her tongue—to think her Alexander’s pain could be so great, it makes her eyes water with tears.“I was. At one point.”





	the world is still on its head

**Author's Note:**

> so i’ve been working on this for like?? four months?? and it’s by far the longest hamilton fic i’ve ever written. it’s a little inconsistent with the flashbacks (there are like two lmao) and kind of choppy (i guess??) but i’m pretty proud of it and i hope you enjoy. the portrayals of post-traumatic stress disorder may not be completely realistic, i’ve never personally had any experiences with it, but i did my best to make it as accurate as i could. anyway, i sincerely hope you enjoy. if you could leave kudos/comments and let me know what you think that would be greatly appreciated.
> 
> warning: mentions of being suicidal, portrayals of post-traumatic stress disorder.
> 
> (also, oml, i use dashes too much, i’m sorry.)

_Eliza is restless. She throws the covers off, staring at Alexander as he sleeps, face pressed into his pillow, sleeping as peacefully as ever. He never sleeps like this, and she doesn’t know how he’s able to sleep so peacefully. He just returned from war, he’s seen things that she can’t even imagine, things that she can’t even begin to understand. And yet he sleeps so tranquilly, in a way that makes Eliza worry that he hasn’t been getting adequate sleep to begin with._

_She shakes her head, glad that he’s not having night terrors at this point in time._

_She shifts, looking down tenderly at the small bump that has begun to form on her abdomen. It’s still so hard to fathom that that is their baby in there. Sometimes she pokes at_ _it curiously, feels very small movements come from within her. It makes it that much more real._

_She feels quite guilty, not having told him for a month about their child. He was upset when he came home, having been sent home by Washington in some dramatic way that Eliza didn’t quite understand. Something involving General Lee, as she recalled, the other details were fuzzy in her mind. She’d have to ask John when she could, he always knew what was going on, he always made it an effort to stick his nose into everything. Then again, he might’ve been directly involved._

_The room is dark, pale moonlight is shining through the window, illuminating Alexander’s sleeping form. She stares at him, smiles because she loves him. She loves everything about him, even the restless writer in him and the persistent asshole side of him. He’s her Alexander. It’s almost stupid how much she loves and appreciates him._

_Her mind wanders._  
  
With a war going on, and her husband being in the midst of it, she has increasing anxiety about it.  
  
_If he were to die, (and she knows it is a morbid thought, but it’s hard to keep out of her mind) she wouldn’t know what to do. She’d be alone and raising a little one. She couldn’t imagine that, even just thinking about it brought stinging tears to her eyes. Her heart sinks at the thought, and she looks at Alexander again, heart swelling with joy, bringing it back up to its place in her chest, surely. It had definitely dropped lower into her stomach as her thoughts shifted._

 _He looks particularly interesting tonight, she has to note. She’s nude, so is he and his hair is down, much to her liking. She remembers taking it down in the midst of their reunion, telling him that he needed to wash it because it seemed as though it had been a while since he used that shampoo that cost so much money. She assumes high-end expensive shampoo is not at your disposal when you are fighting for your country._  
  
_Eliza wraps her arms around him, shifting his body slightly, her arms loosely slung around his waist. She inhales his scent. He smells like musty soap, probably the generic stuff all the other soldiers used back at their encampment in Virginia. It reminds her of how she’s missed him for so long and she’s happy to have him back, elated actually. The need to take care of him bubbles in her chest, an instinct._

_He wakes with a stir, his breath less even as his eyes open._

_“Betsey?” He murmurs, half-awake and quite startled to find her still awake. He doesn’t want to baby her, treat her like an invalid just because she’s pregnant, but he wants to tell her she should be sleeping. Because she should. They both know it._

_“Sorry I woke you. Couldn’t sleep.” She says, and she can feel him tangling his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck, running his fingers through long, dark hair. He’s so affectionate, sometimes she wonders if it’s because he thinks he’ll never see her again after he returns. The thought makes her stomach drop and clench painfully, urges a terrible feeling of dread._  
  
_“It’s okay.” He grins. Her arms tighten around him, and she just wants to hold onto him for as long as she possibly can before he has to go. She doesn’t want to let go just yet._  
  
“I missed you.” She says simply, their skin pressed together, heat shared.  
  
_“I missed you too, my love, and this little guy too, even though I didn’t know they existed.” He laughs softly, and Eliza gushes at the comment. His palm splays over the swell of her stomach, a tender gesture that Eliza follows him in, placing her hand atop his._  
  
_And suddenly, as if the baby inside of Eliza sensed his or her parents’ warm presences, there’s a small movement from within. Alexander freezes. “Was that?”_  
  
_Eliza nods, entwining the fingers on their free hands. “They move a lot, I think they’re like you.”_  
  
_“Oh, Eliza.” He looks her in the eye with so much love and affection. He slides downward to kiss her stomach, press his forehead to the small swell._  
  
_Eliza smiles, gripping his hair and running her fingers through the dark brown locks. Her chest floods with warmth, love, and adoration for her Alexander and their unborn child. Her worries are cast away from the forefront of her mind and she just enjoys Alexander. Having him home. ___

 _ _ ____

 _ ___

.

  
Alexander has changed. He’s not exactly himself for the first few weeks after he returns from Yorktown. He has nightmares, awakes to the quiet thrumming of the rain on the rooftop and the soft sound of Eliza breathing even breaths as she sleeps beside him.

He wipes his eyes of stinging tears and catches his breath, softly nudging Eliza awake. He hates to do this, to wake her, especially because she’s pregnant and she needs it more than ever. He’s selfish, kind of scared to admit it, but he is. He needs her. She’s his anchor and he just needs her to be his, to love him.  
  
“Liza? Betsey?” He nudges her softly, his hand on her belly, now swollen well past her toes.  
  
“Alex?” She murmurs, half-awake and slightly startled when Alexander’s thumb brushes gently along one of her collarbones. “Honey, go back to sleep.”  
  
“Can’t, nightmare.” He murmurs into her shoulder.  
  
Eliza maneuvers herself onto her back, cradling his face in her hands. “What do you need, Alexander? I’ll do anything, really, I just want you to be you again. I want my Alexander back.”  
  
He twists a lock of her dark brown hair in his fingers and looks at her with intent, cupping her full cheeks. “You.” He kisses her, softly, so in love with her, in love with the fact that she’s carrying his child, that she’s the one giving him this incredible gift that he can never repay her for. In love with the fact that she’s his wife and that he has someone as amazing as her.  
  
The rain outside grows heavier, the pounding on the roof more audible. And Alexander, who would usually crawl under the covers and hide at the sounds, kisses a trail down Eliza’s neck and then lower, following the path of her natural curves.

Eliza sighs and pushes her worry aside for a moment.  
  
At breakfast the next morning, Eliza catches interesting glances from her sisters, all three of them having come home to the Schuyler Mansion sometime before Yorktown and Catherine and Philip quite enjoyed having their daughters, sons-in-law, and grandchildren home.  
  
Angelica is already a mother of three little ones; little Kitty, named after their mother, and Philip, named after their father, and their newest edition, John, named after Angelica’s husband. The Schuyler house is positively full to the brim with not only all three older Schuyler sisters and Angelica and Eliza’s husbands and children, but with the three Schuyler boys and little Cornelia and baby Catherine. Eliza enjoys the company of her large family and can’t wait until she and Alexander have more kids than they could count. There’s just something so pleasant about a big family.

“Were you alright last night?” Angelica asks, looks at her sister questioningly as Peggy sits beside her in the same boat. They are nosy, but they are her best of friends, her sisters, she tells them everything regardless of if they need to know it or not.  
  
“Yes,” She sighs. “Alexander wasn’t, but I was fine.”  
  
“What happened? Is he having war flashbacks? That happens, you know? Papa told me about his. He just needs to see a therapist.” Peggy says, shoving a strip of bacon into her mouth in the most unladylike way possible. Her usual fashion.  
  
“Well, he woke up around two and told me that he had a nightmare, and then I asked him what he needed and we…” Eliza explains, looking at her sisters suggestively.  
  
Peggy chokes on her bacon and Angelica pats her back through it. “I mean, I heard groans and stuff, but I assumed that was Alex having a nightmare, not you two having hot pregnant sex! Jesus, Eliza! And here I thought you were the innocent one!” Peggy says after she recovers, having drunk some water to help everything down and raising an eyebrow from Catherine. She had been wandering about with Philip, getting him to help set the table.

Angelica figures her son ought to be doing something, and if wandering around with his grandmother while she did her chores was what he wanted to do, that’s just fine.  
Her children— three-year-old Philip, two-year-old Catherine, who went only by “Kitty,” and baby John, only a month old—run around. Save for baby John who is curled up against his mother’s chest, fast asleep among the chaos his siblings are evoking.  
  
Eliza smiles as her niece and nephew help their grandmother set the table for breakfast, watching Philip as he lays the napkins out rather crookedly and Kitty as she passes the silverware to him. Angelica kisses both children on the forehead when they finish their task, thanking them for their help.  
  
It reminds Eliza of how excited she is to become a mother. Little interactions like these make heart flood with warmth and they look of pride on her sister’s face indescribably amazing. She can’t wait for that.

“Well, I mean, he’s coping,” Eliza says in defense, looking at a wide-eyed Peggy and a giddily laughing Angelica.  
  
“Look, I don’t blame you, he’s been gone for a while and you just need to… get your groove back or whatever.” Angelica smiles, yet more laughter bubbling up on her lips.  
  
“Angelica, please,” Peggy says, shaking her head.  
  
“I’m just saying. Where is he anyway?” Angelica asks curiously.  
  
“Sleeping. I didn’t want to wake him, so I’m just going to take him some food when I’m done, unless he comes out here, but I doubt it.” Eliza sighs. “I’m worried about him. I think he might have post-traumatic stress disorder. It happens to a lot of soldiers that return home, you know, survivor’s guilt.”  
  
“Liza, I’m sure he’s fine. Just talk to him, okay, you’ll know once you talk to him.” Angelica advises. She’s always been so wonderful at giving advice. Eliza will never know how. “Words can do wonders, dear sister.”

Catherine returns from the kitchen with the food, and soon, all of Eliza’s younger siblings (Cornelia, Philip Jeremiah, Rensselaer, John, and baby Catherine carried in by Philip Schuyler himself) are all at the table, indulging in a home-cooked breakfast together. She smiles, but Alexander’s seat is empty. Unease hits her, only slightly because right now her focus is on the joy of the company of her family. So she does exactly that.

 

.

 

After a talkative and very satisfying breakfast, everyone disperses until lunchtime, and Eliza asks her mother for a plate to take up to Alexander because, amazingly, he’s still asleep upstairs sleeping, she’s sure of it. She arrives back into their room, closing the door quietly and sighing softly when she sees Alexander asleep on his stomach, completely naked, which indicates he’d probably been sleeping since she awoke and hadn’t gotten up at all.  
  
Her side of the bed dips down to bear her weight as she sits on it, gazing at Alexander with the plate on this nightstand for the moment. She moves some of his shoulder-length dark brown hair away from his face, sighing softly when he puffs out a small breath. He’s precious, a little rougher from war, but so precious and, dare she say, beautiful because he’s so much more than just handsome.

She really hates that she has to wake him, but he needs to eat.  
  
”Alexander, sweetheart, it’s time to wake up. Mama made breakfast, I got some for you,” she whispers, voice low and soft in his ear, and he blinks his eyes awake.  
  
“Betsey,” he murmurs, exhausted, a bit disoriented.

“Yes, love?” her tone is tender and concerned as her fingers run across his cheek.  
  
“I-I’m so tired.” he sighs, leaning into her hand on his cheek, eyes drooping just slightly.  
  
“I know, sweetheart, but you really must eat.” She sighs. She hates to do this, especially because she knows how hard it has been for him to sleep deeply without any nightmares. It doesn’t appear that he’s had one, and for that, she is so thankful. She reminds herself as well that she’s not sure what happened while she was having breakfast. He could’ve had a nightmare and been  _alone_. The thought terrifies her, brings pricks of tears to her eyes. “How about you just eat as much as you can and then go right back to sleep?”  
  
He nods, sits up as Eliza goes to the dresser to retrieve a pair of boxers for him and a clean shirt to wear. She hands them to him and he changes into them with no problems. He actually eats, which is surprising because he’s never had such an appetite for eggs, bacon and her mother’s homemade from-scratch pancakes.  
  
“Better?” She asks with a chuckle as she looks down at his clean plate, figuring he’d been hungrier than he’d let on.  
  
“Much.” He sighs, though his eyes are heavy, he doesn’t want to go back to sleep. “Can you hold me, Betsey, just while I try to fall asleep?”  
  
Eliza smiles softly, nodding. “Of course.” They maneuver simply, placing the plate on the nightstand and Eliza allows Alexander to settle against her, rest his head on her shoulder and eye her swollen stomach for movement. Alexander has an immense liking to feeling their baby kick, she always finds him placing his hand in multiple spots on her belly just to feel the smallest of movements from the baby. But she can’t blame him, it’s a magical thing that he’d missed out on for so long while he was gone. She likes his company, too, and the way his eyes light up with excitement is precious.

“Has he moved all morning?” He asks, his eyes searching for hers.

“ _They_  haven’t moved very much, just a few kicks.” Eliza says, emphasizing that since they did not yet know the gender, the baby would be called “they” until the birth. As a precaution.

Alexander laughs softly to himself, kissing her belly in apology. “Sorry, they, I just forgot.”  
  
“That’s okay, baby.” She kisses his forehead, watching his careful fingers splay over her abdomen.  
  
She already knows it, he’s going to be the best father.  
  
“I can’t wait.” He huffs softly into her neck. “I just want the baby now. I’ve been thinking about it so much that I… I just want them to be here. At night on the camp, I used to lie awake and think about what it would be like… I’m so excited, Betsey, you have no idea.”  
  
“I have some idea, but it more so involves me wanting to have my body all to myself again.” She chuckles, she can hear a faint, breathy chuckle come from Alexander as he laughs into her neck. “But I’m excited too.”  
  
It isn’t until late that afternoon that Alexander finally opens his eyes again, rather surprised to see Eliza in bed beside him, soundly asleep. She’s been so exhausted lately with the baby’s arrival cutting close and he doesn’t want to wake her, especially not when she looks so peaceful. He kisses her forehead and holds her body closer to him, smiling happily when she croons softly, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.  
  
He feels rather different now, having returned from the very depths of war. He seems to have gained a bit more muscle, not a ton, but his bicep feels firmer and his stomach is more sculpted than it had been before he left. He feels stronger, definitely looks it too. He isn’t super muscular, just enough to the point where she can feel it beneath the surface. She’s glad about that, her Alexander isn’t that ripped guy that goes to the gym every day and does a hundred bench presses an hour. He’s slightly awkward and soft and intellectual and distinctively hers. She’d rather him be that than someone who he isn’t. Nevertheless, she smiles softly into his shoulder. At least the war had done something good for him. Her arms went to his waist and she snakes her arms around his waist, hugging his body to hers.  
  
She’s missed him so much, just holding him now and getting to smell him and touch him is a miracle, really. She loves her Alexander. Everything about him, too, even his stubbornness or his unconventional work ethic. It’s him.

“You awake?” He murmurs, tracing her spine, up and down over the rigid bones of her vertebrae.  
  
“Mmm,” she kisses the crook of his neck, her lips soft and lingering on the spot she kissed. “Yeah, you okay?”  
  
“Fine.” He whispers into her hair, the smell of her sweet shampoo filling his nostrils. “You’re the pregnant one, I should be asking you how you feel.”  
  
“I feel fine, but my ankles are a little swollen. They have been for days now.” Eliza explains.  
  
“You want me to rub your feet, huh?” Alexander questions, watching Eliza wrinkle her nose and smile sweetly at him.  
  
“Please?” She blinks, batting her eyelashes sweetly. He could never so say no to her, especially not with how adorable she looks.  
  
“Anything for you, Betsey.” He kisses her forehead, adjusting so he could sit near her feet, beginning his work.

.

 

 _“Please don’t go.” Eliza pleads, tears running down her cheeks as she sits up in their bed, Alexander collecting his things to leave and catch a plane back to Virginia. He himself is rather nervous, but Eliza seems so much more distressed than she’s ever been about him leaving._  
  
_“Liza,” He says softly, his heart-shattering. He doesn’t want to abandon her, he doesn’t want to die and leave her alone with a baby. But he has to fight, for his country, to make things right for Eliza and their child, even if he dies doing it. He hoped that isn’t his reality, though, for the sake of Eliza and their baby, but it’s so possible. He does want to dwell, but yet here he is. “Don’t do this.”_  
  
_“What if you die, Alexander? What will I do then?” She asks coldly, trying so desperately to choke back the tears that sting in her eyes and threaten to fall. She wants to be strong, like Angelica, tough and unfazed. But the truth is, she’s not her sister. She’s not Angelica, not brave or strong. She’s Eliza. So she cries._  
  
_“Eliza, you know I have to do this. It’s for you, and our baby. I want nothing more to protect you guys.” He says softly, cupping her face, round rosy cheeks and all, as he approaches her side of the bed._  
  
_“I love you.” She says tearfully, kissing his knuckles, clutching his hand tightly. She can’t let go and yet she has to._  
  
_I love you too. I’ll make it home to you, I promise.” His smile is watery, decorated with tears.  
_

__“You have to promise you won’t… die. I can’t do this alone, Alexander, I can’t lose you because if I do I don’t know what… I don’t know what I’d do without you. Please be careful.” She’s crying, small sobs, plump tear droplets cascading down her once-pristine and scarlet cheeks. _  
_______

____

__

____

.

 

Later in the afternoon, Alexander pulls himself out of bed and goes to join the rest of the Schuylers at lunch.  
  
Angelica wiggles her eyebrows suggestively at Eliza and Peggy holds a hand over her mouth because she’s positive she’ll vomit all over the place at what Angelica is suggesting. Poor Peggy. They’d call her a prude if she weren’t so interesting while intoxicated.

Philip is more proud of his son-in-law than ever about his victory at Yorktown, clapping him on the back and congratulating him profusely. Alexander is rather reluctant about accepting the praise, but he is polite and quite likes his in-laws, so he doesn’t complain.

Eliza smiles, watching her father beam with pride. She touches her belly, rubs slow circles around it and wonders, idly, if Alexander will be the prideful father he is. She wonders also what kind of mother she’ll be. She already loves her unborn child so much, it really kind of scares her how much she loves someone she’s never met but is automatically hers. Motherhood is such a strange concept, she concludes, but she’s too excited to mention the thought to Angelica or her mother.

Lunch passes quickly and Eliza decides that she is still exhausted, her pregnancy is truly taking quite a toll on her overall mood. She’s not sure Alexander is quite used to it yet. She doesn’t necessarily expect him to be anytime soon.  
  
“Are you alright, darling?” Her mother asks, noticing how Eliza is leaning into Alexander for support.  
  
“I’m fine. Just very tired.” She murmurs against Alexander’s shoulder, barely able to keep her eyes open.  
  
Her mother is sympathetic, she always has been, smiles softly at her daughter, offering her more tea.  
  
Alexander soon takes Eliza back upstairs, helping her up, getting a bit worried. From what he’d heard from Angelica and Peggy, Eliza had had a very active pregnancy, so for her to just not feel up to even sitting at lunch with her family, he worried. He wonders if that was a product of whatever the war had done to him, the need to protect Eliza and their child because he feels he can’t protect himself. He shivers, shakes the thought out of his head and helps Eliza into bed. He kisses her temple and then her protruding belly, resting in the spot right beside his wife. He can’t leave her side, not now. He cares too much to leave, And she’s been here the whole time, through all of the adjustments to life after war. She falls asleep, to his relief, and he soon follows.  
  
It’s night by the time Eliza awakes. Everything is tingling, probably going numb from being in the same position for hours, but she feels much better now that she’s slept. The room is impossibly dark, the only light coming faintly from the window, illuminating pale moonlight. She lays on her back now, staring plainly at the ceiling and rubbing slow circles on her stomach. The baby is so active at all hours of the night. It’s really become a problem, making it harder for her to sleep. It’s not so bad now that she’s slept, but she does wish the baby would just calm down, sometimes the kicking is borderline painful.  
  
The sense of calm Eliza feels is then shattered when Alexander jerks violently in his sleep. Eliza peels herself away from her focus on the ceiling and turns to him, eyebrows furrowing in concern. He does it again, she almost squeals in surprise but holds it back, touching him gently, trying to calm him down. It doesn’t work, so she figures she has to wake him up.  
  
“Alexander, darling, wake up.” She shakes him gently, scared now. Maybe Peggy was right about what she said at breakfast. It scares her more than she cares to admit, but for now, she pushes it aside and deals with the matter at hand.  
  
“No! No!” He screams the words, terror so painfully evident in his voice. He sobs, gasps for air, almost like he’s winded and can’t breathe.  
  
“Alexander!” She yells, the same pitch of terror in her voice as Alexander’s. “Wake up! You’re having a nightmare and you’re worrying me!”  
  
Alexander’s eyes snap open, taking it all in. He’s not in danger, there aren’t any canons or rifles or Washington yelling at him, it’s just quiet and dark. And Eliza is leaning over him in tears. He doesn’t know what’s worse to be completely honest, war or seeing his beloved Betsey doubled over in tears because of his doing. His heart lurches painfully in his chest.  
  
“Oh, thank god. You scared me so bad.” Eliza gasps, embracing him tightly, sobbing into his neck.  
  
“Liza, wha—what happened?” He can’t remember a thing now. It’s all gone.  
  
“Oh, dear, I think you had a nightmare.” Her voice is wracked with tears, shaking almost. He scared her. He scared Betsey so badly she’s shaking and sobbing.  
  
“I wanna go to sleep, Betsey, but I can’t. What if I have another nightmare?”  
  
“I’ll hold you? Maybe you’ll be okay if I just…” She’s so obviously shaken, like she’d just witnessed something straight out of a horror movie. She can barely think straight, and it hurts Alexander more than he can process. He wants to take care of her, especially now, but he can’t. He’s helpless, like he was when his mother was ill, like he was when she died and he was alone. It all hits him, it’s horrible, the emotions are grotesque. All he wants is to forget but it’s not going away. He squeezes his eyes shut holding back tears.  
  
“I’m sorry, I scared you.” His eyes fixate on her in the dark, his hand on her cheek, fingers brushing soothingly through her long brown hair.  
  
“It’s okay. Go to sleep now, okay? I’m here.” She engulfs him in her arms to the best of her ability, kissing the side of his face over and over and telling him, soothingly and in a low voice, that he’s okay. She’s here.

 

.

 

_Sometimes Eliza stays up. It’s rare these days—she’s always so tired and sleep is just essential most days. Today is different than most days. She looks up at the ceiling in the dark and assumes that today she’s just not as tired… it’s strange, she’s almost energized._

  _“Are you sleeping?” Alexander asks, voice rasping. He’s just woken up._

  _She’d prefer him to be sleeping now, with his leave from the war he needs to sleep as much as he can when he’s home in their bed. Now, in her weird state as she labels it, she doesn’t mind as much. She cranes her neck, turns her face to his and watches his expression soften when she smiles._

  _“I have a question because I was thinking and—“ thinking, she was thinking. About all kinds of things, but Alexander had been the focus of her thoughts. His pain, his childhood, the things she’d read in those letters, the way he would hush to her about how lucky he was to have found her. “Alexander, are you… suicidal?” The words sting on her tongue—to think her Alexander’s pain could be so great, it makes her eyes water with tears._

_Alexander thinks for a moment, surprised, unsure why she’s asking. He’s deep in thought, she can see it in his face, in the way he furrows his brow and frowns. The way his hand is on his chin as if considering._

  _“I was. At one point.”_

  _“You were? After you met me or…?”_

  _“No. Long before I met you. After my mom died and my dad left I… had a rough time. I was twelve and an orphan and then the hurricane…” he sighs as Eliza grabs his hand, a tender motion, comforting._

_She kisses each of his knuckles, all ten of them, tears clouding her eyes. “I hate that you felt like that.” She wants to cry more than she lets on, it hurts to know that he considered… it. “I hate that you thought that the world would be a better place without you.”_

  _“I’m not gonna do anything stupid, Betsey. Please don’t cry.” He presses his forehead to hers. He hates to see her cry, especially over something that was his reality when he was seventeen. “You know the moment I saw you I—I knew you’d save me in a way and you did. And I’d never leave you like that… you know that.”_

_Eliza nods. “If you ever feel like that again, just talk to me, please. I want you to be here.” She paused, wondering if she should tell him now, he needs to know and maybe now is the best time. “I’m pregnant, Alexander.”_

_His world changes because of those words and he cries in his wife’s arms, unashamed and so damn happy._

 

 .

 

It’s at breakfast again when Peggy and Angelica sit together, looks of concern covering both of their features. Angelica is already dressed for the day, her black curls done into a high ponytail, framing her face, covered in a fresh layer of makeup. Sophisticated and put together, Angelica described in two words. Peggy is more undone, of course, messy brown curls, frizzy and in a crooked ponytail on her head, not a touch of makeup on her face.

“Last night was good, hm?” Angelica asks, sipping her coffee, watching Eliza as she strides over to the dining table with a plate of food and a cup of decaffeinated tea in hand.  
  
“Fine, I guess, if you leave out Alexander’s nightmare everything was great.” Eliza half-smiles, bittersweet.  
  
Angelica’s jaw hangs agape. “Is he okay? Did he get back to sleep fine?”  
  
Eliza nods. “He did. I didn’t though, not until late at least. I just couldn’t stop thinking about it, he scared me so badly and it’s not his fault, but it hurt so much to see him like that. It’s almost like how he gets scared when it rains but so much worse.” She can barely find the words to describe it all, the fear, the panic, the sobbing. It even pains her to think about it now, sitting across from a stunned Angelica.  
  
“Maybe you should talk to him?” Angelica suggests as Peggy stirs her coffee with a spoon, unable to find words.  
  
“I will. I just wanna be happy right now! Where’s little Johnny? I wanna hold him, get a feel for what I’m in for?” Eliza says abruptly, scanning the room for her infant nephew.  
  
Peggy and Angelica share a look, Eliza notices but ignores it. She doesn’t want to create more reason for her sisters to worry, she’s already got enough with Alexander and the baby.  
  
Angelica quickly spits out a response, gesturing toward the staircase as she speaks, “He’s upstairs with John. He was all cranky last night, barely got any sleep. I think he’ll be napping for a while.”  
  
Eliza nods. There’s a long pause before Peggy excuses herself to the restroom and their mother calls for them to come and get their food. Angelica worries.  
  
In the afternoon, Eliza returns from downstairs. She’d been knitting and reading with her sisters while her father and Angelica’s husband, John, debated about the news. It had been a nice way to pass time, knitting adorable baby clothes about of multicolored yarn, watching Peggy become so frustrated that she’d nearly thrown her knitting needles into the fireplace. Their mother advised against it, so had Angelica, and in the end, she’d abandoned the task for her phone anyway. Twitter was seemingly more interesting, anyway.  
  
She climbs slowly back up the creaky wooden staircase and into the hallway. The upper level of the house is quiet, painfully so. She walks on, however, to her door, opening it slowly. Alexander isn’t sleeping, instead, he’s reading. She loves how even though he’s twenty-five and doesn’t generally need glasses, he wears reading glasses anyway. They look good, enough to make Eliza blush or giggle or bite her bottom lip. This time she blushes.  
  
“What’re you doing, my charmer?” She asks, raising an eyebrow to her husband.  
  
“Reading some of those Shakespeare sonnets from your book. It was on the nightstand, hope you don’t mind.” He says, turning a page, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.  
  
Eliza thinks alternatively to how this could go but advises herself against it. No matter how much she loves the way her husband looks wearing glasses and reading from her treasured book of Shakespeare’s sonnets, she composes herself and is reminded that there’s a much bigger issue at hand.  
  
“I don’t. It’s nourishment. Good for your brain.” She nods. She loves his brain—no matter how strange it sounds—the way it works, the ways in which it thinks and functions. Not in the ways it hurts him, plagues him with horrible thoughts.  
  
She pads lightly over to her side of the bed, her stomach unbalancing her only slightly as she approaches it. She sits, shifts to watch Alexander as he smiles loving with the book still open to a page.  
  
“Would you want me to read you some?” Alexander asks, his voice weary. She agrees with the slight nod of her head, loving the idea. His voice is so relaxing, so calming, so smooth and intelligent.  
  
He reads, the words rolling effortlessly off his tongue, sweet and smooth, and if she weren’t so tired, arousing. Everything else is drowned out by the sound of his voice. She wishes it were more simple, Alexander coming home, she wishes he was healed, or maybe not even damaged to begin with. It’s stupid to think, but she can’t help but think about how much easier it would be. There wouldn’t be any reason to worry, no reason for Peggy to raise her eyebrows and Angelica to look so concerned at breakfast. How nice it would be, indeed.  
  
He finishes the sonnet, punctuating it with a kiss to her brow. It had been something about love—she hadn’t been listening to the words very clearly, not analyzing each word or anything.  
  
“Are you okay?” Alexander asks, noticing her lost expression.  
  
“Yeah. I just… can we talk about last night?” Eliza poses the question, cautious. She doesn’t want to hit a nerve, she knows it’s hard and she can’t imagine his pain.  
  
Alexander blinks.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Eliza says immediately, sitting up, having a little trouble trying to balance herself with her stomach being so ridiculously large. “I shouldn’t have—”  
  
He interrupts, choosing to calm her trepidation with a response. “I mean, it felt real. It felt like I was still there and like… it just felt so real. I don’t really know how else to put it.” Alexander muddles with his words. The sheer terror of the experience rendering him almost incomprehensible.  
  
“Hey.” She puts her hand on his, squeezing. “It’s okay. I’m here, we’ll figure this out together, hm?”  
  
“I love you.” He says, shuttering almost, the raw emotion so evident in his voice.  
  
Eliza smiles, “I love you too.” She does all she can to hold back her tears.  
  
“Are you calm?” Eliza asks in a hushed voice, arms wrapped tightly around Alexander’s waist, her face buried in his hair. He smells nice, she has to say, musky, like that stupid cologne Laurens and the others guys wear. She likes it, it kind of suits him, it fits with his more rugged exterior, his newfound strength, but yet it leaves some vulnerability to him. He needs that, she thinks.

“I think so.” Alexander nods, breathing deeply. He can’t gauge it, he’s so caught up and so exhausted.  
  
Eliza presses her hand to his chest, right atop where his heart beats nervously. It must be something like a hundred beats per minute. “You’re not.” She’s gentle, nuzzling his neck, playing with strands of his dark hair, pulling the blanket tighter over their bodies. She radiates warmth onto him—both physically and atmospherically—a protective sort of shield around him. Nothing bad could possibly happen with Eliza protecting him like this. She knows he believes that. “Breathe. You have to be calm. You have to know that I’m going to be here. All night.”  
  
Alexander breathes, like she said, slow and deep, releasing after a moment. He focuses more on what can go right tonight—no nightmares, an entire night’s rest. It’s been so long since he’s slept normally, the thought of just sleeping normally is motivation enough.  
  
Eliza is relieved when his heart slows a bit under her palm, enough for her to know that he’s calmed. “Everything okay?” She asks, amid the otherwise silent bedroom, dark with the smallest sliver of sunlight peeking through.  
  
He nods, tight-lipped. “I think so. Night, Betsey.”  
  
Eliza smiles, glad, hoping tonight will be better. For her, but especially for Alexander. “Goodnight, my love.” She kisses his head, closing her eyes. Alexander is sound asleep before he can respond.

Eliza awakes the next morning, her eyes heavy with the remnants of sleep and her arms still interlocked around Alexander. She sits up to the best of her ability, her eyes falling to the side, watching Alexander. He’s peaceful as she’s ever seen him, asleep. A smile forms, the corners of her mouth turning upward. He had a good night, she can tell by the way he’s sleeping, so serene and content.  
  
She touches his forehead, her hand venturing over to his hair, soothingly running her fingers through the dark strands. He has really thick hair—maybe it’s a Caribbean thing, she never thought to ask. It’s long enough to reach his shoulders, not that he’s any competition to her hair in length. He’s always being told that he should cut it, and there is a good point in saying that. It’s definitely a hindrance. He hasn’t yet cut it. She’s not totally sure why. Maybe it’s because he knows she loves it, up or down, usually down. Or because he hasn’t had short hair since he was a boy and it’s somewhat of a security blanket for him. She tells him she loves it, uses it to her advantage at times, or just runs her fingers through it to help him calm down. She can see without it in her mind’s eye, and he is handsome no matter what, but he’s not the same.

“Bets?” He murmurs, half awake, eyes peeking out from his eyelids.  
  
She grins, leaning down to press a gentle, loving kiss to his forehead. “Yes?”  
  
“What time is it?” He groans a bit upon awakening, making Eliza frown because he had previously been so peaceful and she hates to see that ruined. He never sleeps like he did last night, in fact, it’s very rare for him to sleep for so long and so deeply.

She glances at the clock, reading the red numbers through squinted eyes. The room is somewhere between dimly lit and pitch black, but the window supplied a bit of dim morning light. “Seven. You can go back to sleep for two hours, hm? Mama won’t be down to make breakfast until eight thirty and even then it won’t all be done by nine.”  
  
Alexander sighs. “You’ll stay?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
He sleeps more. And she wonders what’s going on in his mind. She wonders if he’s stable, if he’s dreaming about something nice, or perhaps not dreaming at all. There’s a part of her that wishes she knew what he thinks, a part of her that thinks it would be easier to understand him, knowing what he’s thinking. There are things he doesn’t talk about that she’s sure he thinks about—his mother’s death is most certainly one; she can recall the day he’d told her about his mother, the tears and how it seemed he had lost hope. He must think about her sometimes and hold back tears. He must be so broken. And this, the war, the nightmares, adds to it. It’s a terrible culmination, something she’d rather not ponder on.

His pain is hers.

She falls asleep for a few hours, thinking about that. That is until there’s a knock the door, rather loud, almost frantic. She jolts awake and rubs her eyes, relieved to find Alexander asleep at her side.

“Eliza! Open up!” Angelica yells. It reminds her of when they were teenagers, on those mornings before school. Angelica was always up early, Eliza and Peggy were less energetic than she was. She remembers Peggy being a real pain to get up in the morning, asking for five more minutes and moaning unpleasantly when they turned the light on.

Eliza stands, a bit wobbly at first seeing as her stomach is unbalancing her these days. Walking is all she can do not to feel like an invalid. She prides it as one of the few things she can do alone without help at this point.

“Angelica, what’s so important? I was  _sleeping_.” Eliza yawns when she cracks the brown wooden door open, leaning against the frame lazily.

Angelica tuts. She fully dressed for the day in a sophisticated yet casual get up“ with her hair pulled back and her makeup done. “How was your night? Smooth?” She asks with that concerned look of hers. Angelica is never really that readable, he emotions are rather reserved, but Eliza knows her well enough to tell how she feels, even with the absence of a facial expression or a tone. She can’t hide much from Eliza.

 “Fine. No nightmares or anything. You?” Eliza asks, more about baby John. He’s quite the handful as she’s been told.

“Great. It went swimmingly.”

Eliza snorts. Not Angelica’s usual word choice. “Your British husband is really rubbing off on you, huh?”

“Definitely.” Angelica laughs, smiling broadly. “Also, Mama wanted you to know the breakfast is ready. Get Sleeping Beauty up, will you?”

 

.

 

Within the next few months, Eliza only grows more anxious. The baby’s arrival becomes more real after Christmas. The facts of it, all the horrifying things Angelica had shared about childbirth and all the times her mother had called Angelica a liar. It was only really to calm her nerves, she knows, but the things Angelica boasted about really stuck with her.

Alexander does considerably better. His nightmares are still present—something he’s working on, therapy and all. He’s glad to be more distracted now with the baby’s arrival cutting close and taking part in assembling the crib with an eager Peggy. He’s not better, Eliza likes to tell him, but he’s getting there. And it’s okay if he’s taking some time.

“It’s getting close,” Eliza says as she looks crookedly at the calendar app pulled up on her phone with her due date marked for January twentieth. She almost feels like she’s not ready—yet she is, she has everything she needs, even the things that she won’t need for another year when the baby starts walking and eating solid foods. She feels unprepared anyway, Angelica says it’s because she’s a new mother, still figuring it out.

“Less than a month, can you believe it?” Peggy says pointedly as she knits some little mittens, patting her sister’s stomach. She’s really gotten the hang of knitting, she’s even pretty good at it. Far from where she’d been a few months ago, threatening to throw her needles into the fireplace.

“No. I’m so unprepared!” Eliza stresses.

“You are not. You have everything you need. You’re just not mentally prepared. You probably won’t be until the baby is born, or at least I wasn’t.” Angelica remarks, looking up from her book.

Eliza sighs. “How can I be? I mean you keep telling me about how horrid your experiences giving birth were, how am I supposed to be prepared when you told me about—?”

Angelica interrupts rather swiftly. “No need to bring that up, Eliza, you’ll just freak yourself out more. You need to relax and be thankful that Peggy is being a sweetheart and knitting some mittens for your kid.”

Peggy smiles brightly. “I picked green because it’s a unisex color.” She comments.

“The more important question here is is Alexander ready? You’ve already done most of the maturing, but how’s he doing?” Angelica questions with raised eyebrows. Almost intimidating.

Eliza cringes. She’s not sure if he’s ready, with everything that’s going on it makes her kind of want to keep the baby in for longer than is really necessary. She wants him to heal, fully, before he becomes a father. But time is against them. He won’t be healed when their baby is born, he won’t be his old self. And she just has to deal with that. ”I don’t know. He’s having a hard time and… god, I wish we had more time.”

“He’ll do fine, I think. If he stays focused on getting better. And he’ll love that baby, Liza, I know it.”

Eliza smiles. Angelica is right, as always, Alexander will be amazing. She doesn’t need any more proof, she already has enough just from their baby’s short time with him during its prelife. She’s reassured by the thought of Alexander’s face when he sees their newborn, there’s no doubt in her mind that Alexander will be the best father he can be. Even now.

 

.

 

It’s later in the afternoon when the Schuyler sisters disband, Angelica tending to three hungry children and Peggy returning to the task of relentlessly scrolling through Twitter. Eliza alternately sneaks upstairs to the room she shares with Alexander—her childhood bedroom, an embarrassing reminder of her pining teenage years. He’s sleeping, he’s been doing that a lot lately, more than usual, tucked safely into the queen-sized bed. Maybe it’s because he’s tired of because he wants to escape reality.

Eliza never lingers, instead, she sits on the end of the bed, looking directly into the mirror on her vanity just feet away. She notices changes in herself now more than ever. Her cheeks are rounder, her mother says it’s probably because she’s bloated, which doesn’t help much. Everything feels sensitive, even her hands. Her breasts are a bit too big for her liking, she quite enjoyed them when they were smaller, but she doesn’t necessarily loathe the effect it has on her. Her stomach is the most obvious change, it doesn’t bother her much, except for when she sleeping, or walking, or standing, or doing anything physical whatsoever. It doesn’t matter because all she cares about is that her baby is healthy and comes out when he or she is ready. She’d gladly be pregnant for a month longer if that’s how long the baby needs. 

There are other things that come up when she looks at herself in the mirror like this too. Sometimes she feels like she’s too young, twenty-four, right out of college and already married a year and expecting a baby. Sure, Angelica is only a year older than her and has three kids, but she looks in the mirror and feels small. Like she’s not big enough or old enough to handle this herself. She can’t say why, god knows why, but it’s all strange and unfamiliar, this path to adulthood and motherhood. Exhausting, too, she has to admit. Her back aches horribly from the added weight of the baby and she can’t seem to find a good time to get adequate sleep. She tells herself everything will fall into place when their baby is here, but she’s not sure if she can trust her own conscious. The insecurity is almost unbearable, and she already feels like a bad mom for not  _knowing_.

She shifts, flops carelessly onto her back next to Alexander and burrows in his warmth.

She loves him so much. Just looking at him makes her heart soar. It’s when she looks at him and knows that he’s a good person, that he loves her as much as she loves him, she’s reassured. All the tenderness and affection she holds for him is special, it’s what Angelica would talk about when they were teenagers still pondering the meaning of the word love. In Eliza’s own personal dictionary in her head, love is defined by one single word, Alexander.

“Alexander? Sweetheart?” She murmurs softly, running her thumb over his lip tenderly. It’s selfish of her to wake him up like this, she knows, but she misses him so much. It’s almost like she hasn’t seen him in weeks.

“Hmm, Liza…” he murmurs, nuzzling sleepily into her hand as it cups the side of his face. “Where were you?”

Eliza grins. “With my sisters downstairs. You slept all day?” She asks, raising an eyebrow as Alexander gets himself situated, pulling her close and burying his face in her neck.

“I guess. I didn’t even realize you were gone.” He kisses her lightly on the lips, “I missed you.”

She grins. He doesn’t look distressed from what she sees, he looks a little disheveled from sleeping but calm.

“Good sleep?” Her hands run over his hair, start playing with it aimlessly, trying to ignore how much she loves the way his hair looks on him when down. It suits him well, frames his face, adds to his rugged handsomeness. Her raging hormones don’t do much to help her control herself, however. She bites her lip, staring.

“Great.” He kisses her collarbone tenderly, his breath hot against her pale skin. She squirms. “I dreamt about you.”

“You did? What was it about?”

“Just… you. And the baby. You had the baby and… it almost felt real, like I expected to wake up with you in a hospital bed or something. It was… nice. You are smiling so prettily too. Can’t get that image out of my head.” His thoughts are jumbled and so is his speech, but she smiles. It’s endearing that he had a nice dream for once, and she’s almost relieved to know that maybe he’s getting better.

She blushes briefly, a giggle erupting at the back of her throat. “Mmm, getting excited are we?” She asks, delicate fingers combing through his hair over and over.

“Very. I just can’t wait to hold our baby, Betsey. It’s gonna be so magical.” He looks up then, as he says the words, eyes shining brightly with childlike excitement.

“Soon. Hopefully this little one will take mommy’s wishes into consideration and come a bit early.” She pats her belly, smiling down at it before looking back up.

Alexander grins. “Hopefully.” The thought is mesmerizing. His future child will be here sooner than later, a being he and Eliza created completely from their love for each other. It almost blows his mind sometimes—science that is, and Eliza herself, too, all the things she’s gone through to bring their baby here safely. He can never repay her for such a valuable and life-changing gift, nothing he could say, or write for that matter, could ever be enough to show his gratitude for her. His undying love. Life is a miracle, but he realizes that Betsey and this baby are his miracles. A smile tugs at his lips for the first time in a while.

 

. 

 

Three weeks later, January twenty-second at three in the morning, a rather ominous hour, Eliza goes into labor. She’s two days overdue, things had only escalated as far as discomfort went. Alexander is a wreck, watching Eliza in so much pain is distressing. They’d decided on a home birth, not exactly on Eliza’s own volition, but she trusts her mother and Angelica. Her mother knows plenty, she’s given birth seven times, she always says that you don’t do it seven times without picking a few things up along the way.

“This is horrible,” Eliza grumbles, the pain is nothing like Angelica described, it’s much worse. Ripping is the only word to describe it, like she’s being torn in half with increasing force.

“You’re doing great, honey, just a little while longer,” Catherine says to her daughter, smoothing her dark hair over her head. “Alexander, will you keep an eye on her while Angelica and I go get some supplies?”

Alexander sits up in his chair, nodding. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Catherine and Angelica leave silently, and Eliza takes a deep breath, happy to finally be alone with her husband. She appreciates her mother’s efforts, but right now she’s not exactly the most comfortable she’s ever been in her life.

“What do they mean by ‘supplies?’” Alexander asks with a playful snort, trying to make Eliza feel somewhat better. He strokes some of her hair away from her sweaty forehead, taking in the sight. Wide face, high cheekbones, brown eyes all covered in fear and reactions to the pain.

“Towels, those little hats Peggy made probably, blankets, and god knows what else.” Eliza sighs, her pain isn’t so bad right now, just a steady stream of uncomfortableness.

“I love you, you know, and you’re doing great,” Alexander says, grabbing her hand from her side a pressing a kiss to her knuckles, lingering for a quick moment. He can feel her relax further, hopes he’s helping.

“Mmhmm. I love you too. You’re precious, my love.” She giggles softly, running her thumb delicately over his knuckles before crying out in pain the next minute.

Alexander cringes, not only because his hand hurts from how hard she’d squeezed it, but also at the prospect that his wife is in such pain. She never deserves things like this, pain and suffering are far from the wonderful things his dear wife is worthy of. He reminds himself that it’s for a good cause, their baby will be here sooner than later and that’s all that should matter. Eliza is strong. She can handle it. 

“Hey, you’re doing great.” He reminds her, voice soft as he presses a kiss to her temple, resting his forehead on the side of hers. He can’t quite tell if he’s reassuring himself or if he’s reassuring her.

 

. 

 

The hours tick by slowly until around eleven-thirty when the baby’s first cry rings out. Eliza sobs happily seeing him the first time, the little boy curled to her chest, wailing even as she shushes him gently. The first moment is tender, a sort of out of body experience for Eliza. She holds him and cries and murmurs words that only the tiny being in her arms can hear.

The baby is a boy, Angelica’s first words when she saw the kid had been some poorly timed lewd joke directed at Alexander which made it rather evident.

Nonetheless, the birth is incredible. The highlight of Eliza’s life, really. From now in she’ll say that she has two days of her life that tie for the best day of her life. Her wedding day and the day her son was born.

Alexander nearly loses it when he sees his son, burrowed in Eliza’s warmth, wailing at an awfully loud volume. He isn’t cleaned off yet, but he’s already so beautiful, so soft and tender and just perfect. He’s in love instantly. 

After everything is settled, the baby is cleaned, his umbilical cord is cut by Alexander, and Eliza is dressed and not as exposed, they lay together as a family. Alexander is beside Eliza, her head on his shoulder as their baby lays comfortably curled in her arms. Eliza can’t get over how beautiful her baby is, tiny fingers, matted black hair, and all.

“Names?” Alexander asks, looking at Eliza. There hadn’t been much talk of what they should name their baby while Eliza had been awaiting the arrival. They’d both thought about it—separately, of course. No formal discussion was had, however.

Maybe it’s better to wait, she thinks, because looking at her baby she knows what would fit him best. “Philip. I was thinking Philip after my dad but—“

He smiles, laughing gleefully as he presses a kiss to the side of her face. “That’s perfect. Philip. It fits.”

“My dad’s gonna be so happy. He’s always wanted a namesake as a grandchild and now he has two of them.” Eliza beams. She’s so happy she can hardly control it.

“I love you.” He says it again, because he really, really, really does.

“I love you too. And you’re gonna do great, you know, with this parenting thing.” Her voice echoes softly in the small room, right from the very center where her bed is. She’s almost winded by the sight of her son, like her lungs have collapsed just looking at him lovingly.

Alexander’s face twists. He wants to be the best father he can be—truly, Philip is such a gift, he can do nothing else but love him and make it known. He wants to be better than his father, he wants to be there for it all. And he will be. No matter how hard it gets, no matter how many nights he comes home late to a quiet house with both Eliza and Philip asleep. “Can I really, though? I mean I’m all messed up and—“

“You can. Do you know how much you’ve overcome, Alexander? You can do this, you can be a father and get better at the same time. I know you can.” Her smile flickers.

Maybe she’s right. He looks at his son, feels all the love and tenderness pool in his stomach. And he grins, watches Eliza as she kisses the baby’s head, combing her fingers through the thin black hair there. He has hope—enough of it, anyway.

 

.

 

Their son is their treasure, as it seems. He’s everything Eliza had thought of and more. He’s soft and warm and he smells like baby powder. And she loves him so much. She prides herself on the name they picked for him—Philip suits him so well, she looks at him and the name Philip is oddly fitting.

She tilts her head, watches the baby yawn and curl his red little fingers into fists. Her motherly instincts kick in rather quickly, she rocks him to sleep, stares at him while doing so. She’s unsure if he’s real, he’s almost too perfect for this world. The world is cruel, she looks at Alexander and knows that for a fact, all the things he’s been through, the abandonment, the emotions. She hugs Philip tighter at the thought. She wants to protect her son, at all costs. And the world is scary. She questions if she’ll fail, if he’ll ever get hurt and be broken the way Alexander was at seventeen. If he’ll end up in an early grave for one reason or another and there will have been nothing that she could do to protect him. 

She could cry about the hypotheticals, she could clutch her baby to her chest and just hope, pray the way her mother taught her in church, that nothing bad happens.

She does exactly that, whispers the words over and over again.

 

.

 

The months go on, very slowly at first. Adjusting to this new life—with a baby in the house—is so mind-boggling and a lot harder than anticipated. She wants to move out of her parents’ house. She loves it here, Angelica and Peggy are here as well as her other siblings and her niece and nephews and her parents who are aging. That’s what keeps her from leaving, her family is such a help with baby Philip, her mother more so than anyone else. If she moves, she won’t see her parents as frequently, probably on weekends when her father has a free moment, or whenever her mother can drag herself away from the younger children on into the city where she wants to live.

As hard as moving is going to be, (and she knows it’ll be very hard, saying goodbye to her childhood home and her parents and her sisters) Philip needs structure. They need a place, a place for them to be their own small family, a place for Alexander, Eliza, Philip, and no one else.

They settle into Eliza’s childhood bedroom, three-hundred square feet of purple walls and old wood flooring. Philip’s crib is shoved in a corner next to the bed on Eliza’s side—there’s not ample space between the bed and the crib, but she always reminds herself that I’ll have to do for now. Until they can get an apartment with enough room for Philip to have his own room.

Alexander enjoys fatherhood, even if it is very unappealing to be woken up at two in the morning by a bout of tiny screams. Philip is attached to him in a way, stops crying upon being picked up by him, falls asleep on Alexander’s shoulder as he reads. 

Eliza smiles each time she sees their son fall asleep on her husband’s shoulder, overcome with emotion. Her hormones are nowhere near stable just yet, it scares Alexander sometimes.

On a night that is inconspicuously normal, rain falling over the roof in a soft pitter-patter, Eliza wakes to gentle whispers coming from behind her. She rolls over, frightened and a bit alarmed, to see Alexander leaning over the crib, talking to Philip. She watches silently, listens to Alexander’s steady, whispering voice over the rain. 

“You know, your mommy says all the time that you’re a miracle… and she’s right. She loves you so much. And you don’t know it yet but, she’s the best mommy ever. You’ll understand when you’re a bit older, right now you’re a little too small to know. I don’t know if I’m doing as well as your mom is raising you, but I’m really trying. I promise you that I’ll be here for you though, no matter what. I love you just as much as your mommy does.” Alexander is quiet in his declaration, whispering over Philip, leaning against the wood of the crib. His heart is full, he can physically feel the love he has for his son and for Eliza. It’s nearly overwhelming, but it’s just enough to make him smile.

Eliza shifts, contemplates saying something stupidly romantic that makes him jump because he doesn’t know she had been listening. Instead, she lays, watches in the pale moonlight as Alexander presses a kiss of their son’s forehead and stumbles back to his side of the bed.

“What are you doing up?” Eliza asks, startling Alexander as he climbs back into bed and pulls the covers over himself.

“Geez, Betsey, you scared me!” He says with a slight jump backward and away from the bed. He’d been rather unsuspecting a moment ago. Or so he thought.

She laughs softly, hand on his forearm. “Sorry. What were you doing with Pip?”

Alexander flushes, only partly visible to Eliza in the darkness. She’d heard. “You heard all of it?”

She nods, grabs his hands, pressing kisses to each individual knuckle. He smiles, his Betsey is so loving. “It was incredibly sweet what you said. Though it wasn’t very poetic, but I’ll let it pass because it’s two o’clock in the morning.” She remarks, witty like Angelica. He laughs. 

“I couldn’t sleep. Well, I mean I did fall asleep and then…”

She pauses, a look of pure horror and despair appearing on her face. “No. I thought… I thought the nightmares decreased? Wha—what happened?” She asks, face lined with concern. He’s been doing better lately ever since Philip came along, sleeping through the night without any issues. They’d equated the lack of nightmares to the therapist he’d been seeing. And now… she’s confused and worried and terrified all at the same time.

“No, I mean they have but—they crept up on me. But it wasn’t as bad as a few months ago. I woke myself up before it got worse. Please don’t worry, Betsey—“ he’s talking fast, worried, ridden with anxiety. Her heart shatters.

“Do you need me to hold you?” She offers, eyes big.

“Yeah. I think so.”

He describes it to her. It started as a nightmare would have months ago, culminating into some terrible flashback to when he’d been shot. Sheer panic and the urge to stop the blood had set over him, this painful reminder of the horrors of war. It had happened—the real event, not the nightmare, he noted—well after December fourteenth, when he’d returned back to camp after the two days he’d had away with Eliza for their wedding. He’d been crouched by a tank with Lafayette, as he remembered it, and redcoat had found them, shot him in the right shoulder. He’d tried to shoot back, but he’d been so weak from one hit that he couldn’t.

The pain was indescribable. It was piercing, enough to make him throw up while Lafayette called for the medics.

He had a scar there, on his shoulder, small, minor. It has been nothing that was uncommon in the war. Soldiers got shot anywhere and everywhere, and he considered himself lucky not to be hit anywhere more severe. He wrote the letter back to Eliza a week after, reassuring her with her delicate words and the elegant curls of his handwriting.

She’d embraced him twice as hard when she saw him again, so worried and gentle as she always was.

The nightmare was a preview to that memory, a harsh reminder of what he felt. It had been surreal, less disturbing than his other nightmares. It was real in his mind.

 He lays in Eliza’s arms now, recounting it all vividly.

Eliza thinks about that letter she received in the mail a week later. She was excited, bouncing on her heels as Angelica brought the mail inside, tearing open his letter only to find that her husband of two weeks had been shot. She regrets not being there when he was in the hospital now. Majorly. She couldn’t have been there, she knows, it was too dangerous for her to have traveled down to Virginia at that time.

She feels the same now that she did that day she opened his letter.

 

 .

 

They move after a few months. Their new apartment is rather cramped, two small bedrooms, one bathroom with just enough room for a toilet and a small shower and tub combination. Eliza takes a while to adjust to a smaller home, and it sounds stupid in her mind, sounds rather condensing and snobby that she had to  _adjust_. She hates it. She’s so used to the life her parents gave her, their mansion and the yard space. Yet, she’s happy to be here with Alexander. More than she can describe, really.

They live in the city now, among honking horns and the constant bustle of Manhattan. Eliza leans against the window pane sometimes and watches all the people pass, bathing in dim light. She is calm and beautiful when Alexander walks in, home from his errands, to see her sitting on the window sill, Philip in his bouncer beside her in the living room.

Life is so much more simple now, it’s no longer Eliza, Alexander, and her family. It’s just the three of them, Eliza, Alexander, and Philip. And they’re a of their own family now. The image of Eliza looking out the window with such wonder gives him that though, makes him think about how… lucky they are to be Philip’s parents and to be so purely happy. Finances are tight, and Alexander is now a full-time law student. But none of that matters in moments like these, quiet and serene and tender.

“It’s a beautiful day, huh?” Eliza whispers, raising her eyebrows, still staring out the window.

“Yeah, if you like freezing to death.” He laughs, setting the brown paper grocery bag down. He’d just been at the store, browsing the baby formula and the condoms Eliza had texted him about (her reasoning for the condoms being that she wasn’t going to be pregnant again for a while, so he better get used to it). “How long have you been sitting there?”

“An hour or so. Why?” She asks, turning her head to see her husband holding Philip now, his tired little face resting on his father’s shoulder.

“Nothing. You're not used to the city, I guess.” He smiles as she looks back. Yellow taxis and people holding coffees while talking on their phones and walking speedily down the street. Manhattan vaguely reminds her of Alexander in a way, a cycle of working and never sleeping, always moving. Always doing something.

She nods. She lived in the woods most of her life, among tall pine trees and a large white house she and her sisters would run around as children. It was quiet and still and the complete opposite of this place.

She misses that, but the city is so invigorating, the fast pace, the way Alexander is up with the sun for his walk down to the subway station so he can commute to school. It’s different, but she likes it in a strange way. “I suppose so. What’d you buy at the store?”

“Condoms and formula as requested.” He says, glad that Philip is still a baby and wouldn’t understand what he was talking about or even remember it for that matter.

“Thanks. Needed those.” She smiles, standing so she can press a kiss to his cheek.

Alexander smiles. Eliza is so angelic, the way her dark hair flows down her back and the adorable way her cheekbones raise when she smiles, it’s all so reminiscent of an angel. He’s proud to call her his wife, he tells her all the time. And he doesn’t deserve her, he knows that, no matter how many times she denies it.

“Want me to put Pip to bed?” Alexander asks, watching his son as he sleeps peacefully against his shoulder.

“Probably. He’s pretty tired.” Eliza says with a find smile, softly kissing her baby’s head.

“I’ll put him to sleep. You relax.” He says, kissing his wife’s head and bringing Philip to his nursery. He leans over the crib for a lingering moment after Philip has been put to sleep, just looking at his son. He is proud, proud of himself for taking part in creating such a wonderful little boy, proud of Eliza for doing most of the work, and proud of Philip for just being here. He knows for a fact his father never felt that way, and if by any chance he had, he’d changed his mind ten years later, or maybe even earlier than that.

The questions about  _how_ his father could have done this surface more now than ever. He could never see himself leaving Eliza and Philip. Was he really that bad as a child that his father had to up and leave because he was so disappointed? He doesn’t like to think about it, but maybe he was the reason his father left. He shakes his head, kissing Philip’s head again. He flicks the light off and closes the door, pushing all thoughts of his father out of his mind.

Eliza is sitting on the couch when he re-enters the living room. Her hands are in her lap, clasped together.

“Hey.” He says, a grin appearing on his face.

“Hello.” She smiles with a soft blush as he sits down beside her. “Philip go down alright?”

“Yeah. I think he was pretty tired.”

“So are you.” She observes carefully, studying the bags beginning to form under his eyes. She cups his cheek, concerned. “When was the last time you actually slept instead of staying up all night studying?”

“I don’t know… Wednesday maybe?” The fact that he doesn’t know exactly makes it so much worse.

“Alexander!” She scolds, eyebrows drawn flat.

“I’m sorry, I really am but I have a test I’ve been cramming for and I wanna do well. I wanna give you and Philip a good life, and doing this—becoming a lawyer—is the only way.” He sighs, exasperated and a bit weepy. Not Alexander’s usual reaction to stress, but it’s evident in the way her buries his face in Eliza’s neck that he isn’t doing his best.

“Hey. Don’t apologize. I just want you to sleep. I don’t want you to put off sleeping for studying because you’re scared you’ll have a nightmare—“

He cuts her off. “I’m not—I haven’t had one in a solid month, Betsey.”

She sighs. She suddenly feels pretty bad, this awful pang of empathy hits her. He lifts his head from her neck and she takes the opportunity to cup both of his cheeks in her hands and press a reassuring kiss to his lips. She runs her thumbs over his lips afterward, tender and sweet. “I love you.”

He gushes. ”I love you too.” He needed to hear that especially after the day he’s had running back and forth and drinking so much caffeine that he thought he’d have a heart attack.

“Come to sleep with me? I’ll take care of you, I promise, baby.” She asks, blinking her big brown eyes at him.

“Yeah. Okay.” He nods, he trusts her more than anyone he’s ever met.

She stands, grabs both of his hands and helps him to his feet. They walk down the hall and into their bedroom.

She helps him get ready for bed—which is stupidly maternal of her, she knows, but she can’t help it. She loves caring for Alexander. They crawl into bed together, the room dark once Eliza has shut off her lamp. It’s quiet and a bit haunting for Alexander until he feels her arms wrap around him, hugging tightly.

He has a good night that night.

__

__

__

____

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

____

__

__

__

____

__

__

__

____

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

____

__

__

__

.

__

__

__

____

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

____

__

__

__

____

__

__

__

____

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

____

__

__

__

 

__

__

__

____

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

____

__

__

__

____

__

__

__

____

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

____

__

__

__

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! feedback is very much appreciated!
> 
> find me on tumblr: schuylerrham


End file.
